amongst paved streets and cramped buildings, soft notes drift through the air in a scene similar to that of a high production film’s introduction. a musician examines his music sheets with diligence, glasses perched precariously on the bridge of his nose. where the warmth of summer and the gentle breeze of autumn meet together in the most seraphic sunset, the sky perfectly blended like a painting hung in the most prestigious gallery, he sighs in content behind the window that separates his world and theirs.

in the never sleeping city the musician seeks temporary residency in, he finds himself indulging in the works of bach, his own fingers aching to replicate the soothing symphonies himself, impatient for his next performance. he is tempted to lock his door and remain isolated in the room that only just has space for him and his roommate, forget that there is a world beyond his music sheets. he's quick to curse when the peace he finds whilst immersed in the music quickly dissipates, a bright smile coming into view as another enters the room with a harsh slam. the musician’s count is ruined and he scowls as long limbs saunter towards the record player, song ending with a stutter and an unfortunate question.

"you're not ready? mark, you promised me you'd come," the boy with soft eyes implores. mark knows that he can deny donghyuck's desires for so long and that as soon as a frown graces on his plush lips, his heart will soften and his head will hang in subtle compliance. mulling over the choice he’s faced to make, he considers the short amount of time the two have here before they are swept away to another far away land.

only grunting in response, he reluctantly places his papers into their rightful place and stares back at the other, raising an inquisitive eyebrow at what their next move is. tonight could be an exception, especially for the likes of donghyuck.

mark is fast to decide that trust is not something you should put into a boy with skin as warm as the sun and a mischievous laughter, no matter how pretty he looks or sounds. his button up shirt doesn’t feel right on his skin, nor does the tightness of his jeans, but he know he can’t retreat — not when donghyuck is tugging on his arm with the might of a soldier. definitely not when donghyuck has a destination in mind, no matter how out of his depth he feels with his hair slicked back with too much pomade and shoes that clatter on concrete.

he only feels even further from his comfort zone when he’s pulled into a basement where the beat of the drum vibrates through to his bones. mark considers himself a lover of music, enjoying the way it calms even his father's rage — likes how the strings of his cello can bring others to a dimension where it is just the listeners and their emotions. that kind of power gives him a reason to obsess over the smallest details in the possibility that he might stumble upon the key to heaven. he hopes success will earn him a seat at the table as one of the best cellist, believes that once he's there he'll finally feel accomplished. instead he finds himself critiquing his work to a point where even his seniors label him insane, the worries of slipping off the stairways to heaven clouding his thoughts that despite pain surging through his wrists, he plays on.

now in a position where he's become a dictator in his art, mark turns his nose up to those who don't take it as serious as he — those that don't bleed like he does for their art.